Guilty One
by Shizuku Tsukishima749
Summary: To be guilty is to have regret, and to regret has to do with something in the past, something one cannot change; what I've done I'm not happy about or proud of, but Harry and Hermione forgave me as if I'd done them no wrong. Ron-centric. Oneshot. HHr


**Guilty One**

"What's going on?"

"He's mad is what's goin' on. Do you believe the rubbish he's goin' on about You-Know-Who?"

"Yeah, I do. Has anyone else got a problem with Harry?" I spoke the words through just barely clenched teeth, but they were still strong, and to me, and Harry, that's all that mattered.

My eyes scanned the room to see if anyone else would admit to doubting him, though none obliged to the question; even for a Gryffindor, they probably didn't have enough courage after my knuckles had crackled resoundingly through the room.

As both my face and hands were dyed red, and my mug was twisted to form a snarling expression, I couldn't help but feel threatening. Even my brothers averted their eyes.

How could I not believe him? He's my…best…friend… Memories of my atrocious behavior last year swarmed my mind, and I didn't realize the intensity of my regret until Harry and I had traveled up to the boy's dormitories, my face nearing to appear permanently enraged.

"Are you all right, Ron?" Harry asked worriedly, his firm, concerned eyes staring at me.

"Yeah…I'm fine." I replied, giving a slight, quick smile that I prayed would be enough to convince him, at least a bit. Apparently, my praying had worked, because he smiled at me tiredly, the words and beliefs of the others obviously weighing on him.

He turned and lay on his bed with his back to me, though I knew his eyes wouldn't close; they never did, not anymore. The nightmares were a nightly, and sometimes even a daily thing nowadays; the poor guy hadn't gotten a good night's sleep since Cedric's death.

It was hard to watch him sleep, looking as if a helpless child who'd never been accustomed to anything but pleasant dreams, and was suddenly terrified to even hear the word meaning to 'drift into the depths of your mind'.

He never wanted to sleep anymore, but sometimes Hermione and I would make him, if only because we were worried; we stayed beside him as he slept, and whenever he would call out or sweat, Hermione would gently take his hand, while I put a hand lightly on his shoulder.

At night, when Hermione couldn't be with us, and because Harry refused my offer to stay with him as I'd 'never get to sleep with all of his shouting' and the only way he _would_ actually sleep would be if either I or Hermione was with him, I was forced to the confines of my bed, as he was to stay awake.

During the nights he didn't sleep, which was the majority, Harry would just sit silently on his bed, looking over my homework for me because Hermione said I should learn to revise my own work. He'd offered to do it when we'd first come back to school, seeing as he couldn't sleep through the night anyhow; I'd reluctantly agreed, as he was correct.

When he was simply too tired to revise one more of my badly-done assignments, he would lie back on his bed and stare up at the ceiling, hands behind his head, and stay that way the whole night through; he would do absolutely everything he could to keep himself awake, though he made sure it was nothing that would wake the rest of us.

I hurt me to see him that pained every night, and so exhausted and plagued the next day; I could plainly see that it hurt Hermione more than I, though. At times, tears would come to her eyes when she saw him, and she would furiously turn from him so that she could wipe them away.

Every night, when he thought I was asleep along with the smarter ones of our dorm, I would secretly watch him; on the very few nights that he did sleep because he just couldn't withstand the fatigue his nightmares were causing him, I swear I would hear him crying. That never failed to bring tears to my eyes, as well as Hermione's; her tears fell and drifted down her face, but not mine; my pride, no, _I _wouldn't let them. I wouldn't have last year, at least.

That's what had distanced me from Harry and Hermione then, my positively mental idea that they were better than me, that they were closer to each other than to me, which I see now is very true, that I was…that they never _really _needed me at all.

I can't believe how stupid I was; I don't want to, really. Because of me, Harry didn't have the boy whom he claimed to be his best friend by his side, telling, assuring him that everything would end soon, even if it hadn't been true in the end.

He'd had Hermione with him, though. Even if they denied it, the article that Skeeter woman wrote about them wasn't too far from the truth; at least, not as far as they said. They did indeed have a bond that was unbreakable even to the highest magic.

If one fell, the other would pick them up and brush them off; if one needed defending, the other would be ready and waiting; if one was in need of a hug, a smile, an encouraging or consoling word or two, the other would be there to fulfill each, never hesitating or turning their back when a cry was heard.

Never a single moment or day went by where Hermione's name didn't flow from Harry's mouth, nor did he fail to help her in any possible way, and vice versa, though, it always felt, as it always had, as if Hermione did more for Harry somehow.

It can hurt to think that someone loves you more than you love them; yet, if you really think about it, that assumption isn't completely true. Sometimes, one person could love the other more, and at others, the former recipient could be the donor…the answer to that statement is one that many have yet to find, except for my two best friends. They'd found and accepted it long ago. As have I.

To be guilty is to have regret, and normally, to regret has to do with something in the past, something you cannot change; what I've done I'm not happy about or proud of, but Harry and Hermione forgave me as if I'd done them no wrong.

I laugh quietly as I think of how foolish they can be sometimes, being so forgiving and eager to aid anyone at any given time, but to be like them, so brave and compassionate…

It's all right to be guilty sometimes, to cry and witness pain, as well as to feel it, but it is also all right to let it out, allow it to fall from your shoulders to the ground that's been awaiting its arrival.

Being guilty is not an easy thing…I've learned that the hard way.

**_A/N: Thanks so much for reading this! Please review! _**


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